This is not a book about Richard III. Nor […] is it a book about Richard III. It is a book about everything in between. Its chief protagonists are the left-over remnants and traces of the years 1483-85 that made the journey into the sixteenth century […] my chief aim has been to observe how the present turns into the past […] and to explore how the past negotiates a place for itself in the present.
This book was published in 2013. I found it when I was looking for a 15th-century poem and it came up in Google Books. I daresay it shouldn't have; it is after all still in copyright. But in this case it worked in the author's favour, because, having found the reference I wanted, I was still reading, entranced, three pages on and realised that I would have to order the book.
I have often enough finished a novel and gone straight back to the start to re-read it, when its world had fascinated me so much that I didn't want to leave it. This is the first non-fiction book I've done it with. I only hope I can make it sound as gripping, absorbing and thought-provoking as it really is. It takes a brief period generally agreed to be on the cusp of great change: the end of Plantagenet England, and traces the bits of it that survived into a new world – artefacts, like a bedstead and an annotated prayer book, laws and institutions, memories strangely displaced and distorted by time and oral transmission, even people, like the old lady whose first name have been Jane or Elizabeth but was still, while Henry VIII was negotiating his first annulment, known as "Shore's wife"; Edward IV's mistress, hanging on to life in London, with chroniclers already arguing about whether she had, in youth, been beautiful or not.
Schwyzer is particularly thought-provoking on the subject of "memory cycles", the way in which people tend to revisit the past when certain landmarks are reached. The first, as those tired of Diana-olatry have good cause to know, tends to be 20-30 years after the event in question, when the first post-event generation has grown up and when those who lived through it can view it from some objective distance. The second happens 50-60 years after, when "as the last witnesses near the ends of their lives, anxieties centre on the transmission of personal memory". The third occurs around 100-120 years after, when the event is passing even beyond the kind of memory communicated by grandparents and becoming definitely "history"; this is sometimes marked by a flurry of commemoration, as the Great War has been. What is happening at these times in the present may well colour and shape memories of the past, a telling example being John Taylor's account of a very old man, Tom Parr, who thought he recalled two people being boiled alive for murder in the reign of Edward IV. They were, but it had happened fifty years later in the reign of Henry VIII.
Parr was one of a number of people who were alleged, in the 16th and early 17th centuries, to have attained an impossible age - the Countess of Desmond was variously reported to have made it to 140 or even 184. She must indeed have lived a long time if, as some stated, she grew a third set of teeth, a thing that does sometimes happen in extreme age, as the Persian poet Rudaki found in his own case and celebrated in verse. But the improbable attempts to date such people to before Tudor times read, as Schwyzer remarks, almost like an attempt to hang on to a vanished world. The 50-year anniversary of Bosworth happened to fall during the dissolution of the monasteries, which must have seemed, to those who lived through it, like another world-changing event.
People interpret the past according to their own needs in the present. Some will allow their memories to be reshaped by prevailing opinion; some will cling doggedly to their own version if the whole world says different. And when history is fictionalised, the fiction, if powerful enough, may even outweigh the history. The transmission of information, particularly through oral sources, is both fascinating and frustrating. "I have heard of some that say they saw it", writes More, and in those three verbs we see how easily facts may be distorted. Observation and memory may both be faulty, as the police know well; information may be poorly transmitted or understood; those who then write it down may alter it to suit their agenda. Yet "the past" will keep cropping up, demanding some foothold in the present. Elizabethan theatre companies, as Schwyzer points out, bought up old clothes and artefacts to use as props, and it is well possible that the "rotten armour, marvellous ill-favoured" which Richard and Buckingham wear at one point in Richard III was indeed genuine decayed armour, a survival from an earlier time.
When characters in a history play speak of the future, they are speaking of what, for the audience, is already the past and may well be used by the playwright to hint at the present. Concepts like time, memory, history, fiction are all, in this book, not only masterfully examined but brought to life, and in language which manages always to be clear and readable. As he observes of a Wyatt family legend from the time, "it is not unlikely that Sir Henry, starving in prison, was glad to dine on pigeons brought him by a friendly cat (many of us have received such services, albeit probably with less gratitude)." Some of the survivals from the past that he traces are also truly fascinating – Wolsey's fancy porphyry coffin, coveted by Henry VIII but eventually ending up housing Nelson in the crypt of St Paul's; the Honourable Company of Wax Chandlers, granted their charter by Richard in 1484, still in existence today and still bearing his rampant boar device. But it is the book's central idea: how present becomes past, how past shoulders its way into the present, that is so unforgettable and so apt to make one examine events, artefacts, memories and fictions in a new light.